The Letter and the Rose
by phanpiggy
Summary: Just a sweet 2 chapter story taking place at the very end of the movie. Although Raoul is in the story, it's totally a ChristineXErik fic! Raoul's a dork. This is my first fic, please read it!
1. The Rose

**The Letter and the Rose**

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, any of the characters, logos, songs, yatta, yatta, blah, blah, so on and so forth.

Raoul de Chagny sat downcast on the velvet divan fingering the linen paper envelope in his wrinkled, shaking hands. He thought it best not to feel or think, but nevertheless, sweet memories of the charming, youthful opera singer still flooded through his weary mind. She had been the very essence of beauty; porcelain skinned and doe eyed with rich chocolate hair that cascaded around her like silky waves. She had sung like an angel from Heaven, sweet and innocent and pure. She had been the unparalleled highlight of his golden, well-to-do youth. She had brightened every corner of the Earth with her angelic radiance. It crushed his heart to know she was gone and would never again return to this world. Of course, she had lived a good life being the Countess de Chagny and was showered with love and affection. She had been his, but only in marriage. A man may believe that the woman he weds is his and his alone. No, Christine's heart, soul, and angelic voice belonged to another man. The man who gave her his music, her teacher, her angel--the Phantom of the Opera. Christine had been loyal and loving to Raoul, but her heart was never fully his. Even after she was released from _his_ hypnotic influence, Raoul could tell that Christine longed for her Angel of Music. Raoul had never had and never could have the control that that monstrous, deformed _thing_ had over her. Raoul wished he had pierced that beast through the heart when he had the opportunity all those years ago in the cemetery...

With great effort, the Count de Chagny stood, tucking the letter safely in his overcoat, and ordered the house maid to fetch his coachman. The portly driver entered the adorned sitting room Raoul was lounging in within 5 minutes.

"May I be of assistance to you, Monsieur le Count?", Raoul took in a laborious breath.

"I would like to visit my wife."

"Shall I fetch your nurse and wheelchair then, sir?" Raoul slowly nodded his head as he stared into the flaming embers of the marble fireplace that he and Christine would curl up by on cold winter days...

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Two years ago today, Christine had drawn her last breath. She had suffered from tuberculosis for the previous 6 months. Christine was becoming worse and worse with each new day and everyone who loved her knew all too well that she wasn't going to live much longer. Raoul recalled his last few moments with her before she was reunited with her dear father in Heaven. Christine looked up at her husband sadly and said in her angelic voice, "Raoul my love, please...bring me a pen and paper."

Without a question asked he did as his dying wife instructed. Her feeble, little hands took the paper and pen and she filled out the page with words she wouldn't let him see. Folding the paper into neat creases, she placed the fine paper into an envelope, sealing it shut.

"My dear husband, do not feel any anger towards me, but please, if you truly love me...deliver this letter to _him_... Goodbye Raoul..."

Raoul held her pale hand as she slipped away with a faint smile on her pink lips. Raoul knew who_ he _was and Raoul knew as well that it was not his place to open the letter. He could not deny his wife's dying wish. No matter how much it would anguish him, it was his moral obligation to deliver the message...

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The coach stopped in front of the crumbling cemetery as white snow fell softly to the winter ground. The coachman and the aging nurse assisted the Count into the worn wheelchair and pushed him through the desolate graveyard. As he neared the ornate marble tombstone, he gestured for the nurse to stop and faltered off the chair without any aid. The old man staggered to the tombstone and gazed for an endless moment at the small portrait of Christine placed into the cold stone.

Out of the corner of his vision, blurred from age and fallen tears, he beheld a wilted rose, a black ribbon tied around it with the sparkling engagement ring Raoul had given his dear Christine decades ago resting around the stem of the flower. He withdrew the crinkled envelope from his pocket knowing that this was the place to leave the piece of paper that crushed his heart. The Count stared at the envelope in his hand, tears began to form just at the mere sight of Christine's perfect handwriting. Raoul found that anything to do with her made him sob uncontrollably these days... Without possessing the strength to look back, Raoul left the letter underneath the dying flower...

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Raoul's dreams were full of memories of Christine Daaé that night, both happy and painful... The most distinctive memory however, was that of her kissing that _monster _full on the lips with unbridled passion, caressing _him_, kissing _him_ with more pure love then she had kissed the young Viscount with... Raoul awoke that morning in a cold sweat. The old man's gaze turned to the window as the first few golden rays of sun passed through the trees...

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Raoul de Chagny ventured once more to the gravesite of Christine Daaé... The letter was gone, fresh snow filling the outline of where the letter once was and a fresh red rose laid alone in the white snow...

**The End**


	2. The Letter

Hey everyone! I decided to write a second chapter for "The Letter and the Rose"! So, this is for Sue Raven who wanted to know what the letter said.

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Dec.18, 1917

Dear Angel,

When I was a little girl and lived in the picturesque lands of Scandinavia, each night my dear father and I would sit by the sea as the sun set. Papa would play the violin and tell me tales of the Angel of Music. The Angel would come to those who were woeful and grieving. Those who would hear the Angel would lift their heads up to the heavens and hear the sweetest most divine music. I was enthralled by this mysterious Angel whom my father spoke of. One spring evening, I asked papa if he'd ever heard the Angel of Music. He shook his head sadly and said, "Alas, my dear child, I have not......but as soon as I reach Heaven someday, I promise I shall send the Angel of Music to you!"

As I held my father's hand, crying as he died, my heart broke. I felt empty and afraid and so very alone. That evening, in the chapel, I had cried to my father to send me the Angel of Music he promised. Then, I heard your divine voice singing to me. I thought for sure that it was my Angel. Your music helped heal the hole in my heart that my father's death had caused.

Over the years, I clung to my Angel's voice. I loved that celestial voice that would sing beautiful songs in my head.

The evening of the gala, when you brought me to your home beneath the Opera House, I was confused and sad and ecstatic all at the same time. I did not understand why my papa didn't send me the Angel I had been promised, but at at the same time, I was thrilled that my teacher was a living, breathing man...

I've felt so much more for you than I have for Raoul. Do not take my words wrong, I do love my childhood friend and I wasn't at all unhappy being the Countess de Chagny. Though, what I feel for him is just a simple, childish kind of love. I think that maybe I never loved Raoul more than that of a sister loving her brother... I felt passion for you, you aroused feelings in me that I'd never felt before... Though alas, I was frightened. No, not of your face, never of your face. I was so young and afraid of the depth of the feelings you had for me, which I hope you still have. I was not blind to the fact that you were dangerous, because I knew you would never hurt me. I believed and still believe, that you have a good heart. I do not blame you for the crimes you've committed. Society has shunned and hurt you all your life. They never heard the beauty of the music you created or saw the good you were capable of.

Now, as I lay here dying, I truly believe with all my heart that, in a peculiar way, you are the Angel of Music papa sent me... I wish I could have shared each day and night of this lifetime with you, mon Ange... Know that you are loved, loved with all my heart.

Au Revoir,

Christine Daaè


End file.
